


I Don't Want To Walk Without You

by JustAnotherWriter (N1ghtshade)



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - World War II, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, James is a terrible father, Whump, and Jack is a good one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-08 00:39:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18884575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/N1ghtshade/pseuds/JustAnotherWriter
Summary: He’s about to speak up when someone pounds on the rear gate of the truck. “Sergeant Dalton?” It’s Lanier, and he looks frustrated when Jack pokes his head out.“What’s the problem, soldier?”“I can’t find Specialist MacGyver.”World War II AU





	I Don't Want To Walk Without You

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from a popular song from the WWII era...it just felt perfect for this story...

ITALY-BERNHARDT LINE

NOVEMBER 1943

Jack carefully folds up the letter from home, tucking it into his pocket.  _ Damn it, I should be there helping with the feedings.  _ Instead, he’s freezing his ass off halfway across the world because he really does believe it’s the right thing to do.  _ People just like my family are being hurt because of that monster Hitler and his insanity.  _ Jack can’t sit by and do nothing.

He could technically have been granted an exemption; with Pops gone he’s the provider on the farm, and they’re an agricultural producer too. But ever since the Depression and the dust storms, the ranch is a lot smaller and a lot less work than it used to be. And Jack wouldn’t be able to look at Pops’s purple heart medal hanging proudly in a frame in the hall without feeling like he’d somehow shirked his duty.  _ Pops left a young wife and a newborn son to do what was needed. _ Wanting to stay on the ranch and avoid the fighting isn’t in Jack’s blood. 

Still, it’s days like this he regrets it.  _ If I knew then what I know now, they’d have one hell of a time getting me off the ranch.  _ He’s cold and tired and there’s mud everywhere, and they’ve been out here for days without any activity.  _ Still, it’s better than what happens when we do. _ They took heavy losses in the last push on the Bernhardt line, and it’s time to regroup and figure out what comes next. 

The weather’s been deteriorating rapidly, up here in the mountains, and the Fifth Army is struggling. Men seem to be dropping like flies, fevers and trench foot sending more to the medics every day. Jack’s been fortunate to avoid getting seriously ill thus far. He’s heard Pops’s stories about fighting in the trenches, and he wonders if it was something like this.

He glares out of the tent at the drizzling rain and never-ending mud. He never writes about that in his letters home. He writes about the little villages, and the farms. He doesn’t talk about seeing cattle and men dead in the fields. He writes about the jokes and crazy stories his men share. He doesn’t say why he stopped sharing Griggs’s stories about his childhood trying to build a working airplane, or Hadley’s eerie ghost stories. Momma and Laura don’t need to know that both men are now buried somewhere under that endless muck. In their minds, those men will just vanish, bit by bit. Until it’s like they never existed at all.

He’s pretty sure it’s the weather that’s dragging his spirits down. It’s been nothing but grey skies and rain for a week. He stands up, pulls on his coat, and steps out into the ankle-deep mud. He’s got to talk to someone or he’s gonna go crazy. He finds himself walking almost unconsciously to where Corporal Hern is taking shelter in the back of a parked (most likely stuck) canvas-back truck. 

Everyone calls Corporal Hern “Deacon”. He carries around a battered King James Bible in his jacket and sings hymns when they’re marking. Apparently he quit seminary to come over here, and Jack asked him once why he’s fighting in a war. Deacon just looked at him sadly and said, “Sometimes we have to take the battle to the devil.” Jack won’t disagree with that.  _ He’s a good man, who wants to save as many lives as he can.  _

“Something bothering you, Jack?” Hern asks as Jack hops into the back of the truck.

“How’d you know?”

Hern just smiles. “I know you. And if Jack Dalton isn’t leading with a wisecrack, there’s something real wrong.” 

Jack shrugs, listening to the rain pound on the canvas and plop down inside through some of the holes. “Nothing a little sunshine wouldn’t set right. And a clean shot at some of those guys up there.” He’s itching for a fight, he wants to make someone pay for the men he’s seen fall.  _ They didn’t deserve this. They had families. Dreams. _ And now they’re over here fighting and dying in this hell because some idiots wanted to rule the world. 

“Be careful, Jack.” Hern leans in, looking him in the eyes. “Don’t dwell on that anger or it’s going to eat you up.” Jack nods. But it feels like anger is the only thing left in this wasteland. You stay angry because if you don’t, you’ll crumble. 

He’s about to speak up when someone pounds on the rear gate of the truck. “Sergeant Dalton?” It’s Lanier, and he looks frustrated when Jack pokes his head out.

“What’s the problem, soldier?”  

“I can’t find Specialist MacGyver.” Technically, the kid’s a “Technician Fifth Grade” but everyone still refers to them by the discontinued rank from ‘42. “Robinson was due to relieve him on watch, but he’s not there and he’s not answering when we call.”

_ We’re not close enough to enemy lines for him to have gotten picked off, and if he had we’d be dealing with a lot more problems right now. _ Jack stands up wearily, ducking out of the tent into the rain.  _ Damn winter here. _ “He’s my responsibility. I’ll find out what’s happening.” 

He wonders if the kid finally broke and deserted.  _ He seems to hate all the fighting and killing.  _ Jack wouldn’t be surprised if he did leave. 

He can’t say he’d be sorry to have Angus MacGyver out of his hair. The kid’s nothing short of a pest, Jack actually found him disassembling his rifle one day.  _ Said something about being able to make it more accurate or some nonsense. _ There’s no way he’s letting a kid (he wonders if Angus lied on the enlistment forms, he looks all of fifteen) play around with something that could be the difference between him living long enough to go home to Texas or him dying here in these godforsaken mountains. 

“Where was he?” 

“Post Eighteen, sir.” Lanier says. “Robinson’s up there now, keeping an eye on things.” Jack groans, but hops down out of the truck and follows Lanier into the rain. He nods to Robinson as they pass, then plunges into the woods. He sends Lanier back to camp to check and see if somehow MacGyver ended up back there without meeting up with Robinson.  _ Would be just like the damn kid to have come up with a crazy idea and run back to try it. _ And then he sees the footprints. 

Jack doesn’t like this. Something isn’t sitting right with him.  _ He was walking along the treeline here, and then must have stepped into it.  _ His prints are washed mostly away, he must have been taking shelter from the rain. 

_ So why didn’t he answer them? _ Jack can’t figure what happened. Unless the kid was taken out fast, he would have raised an alert; that’s his job.  _ And if there was someone around here sniping our men, I’d probably be dead by now. _ He can’t totally rule out an animal attack, but he hasn’t seen much wildlife around the camp. They’re afraid of the smell of war.  _ Smarter than we are, _ Jack thinks grimly. 

He follows the footprints further into the trees. There’s a wavering, uneven pattern to them now.  _ Like he was drunk. _ Jack doesn’t figure the kid for the type to get himself wasted, but maybe one of those troublemakers still has some of that wine that they ‘liberated’ in the last town, and just maybe, the kid thought it was a good way to forget the hell they’re in. _ If I find him passed out drunk out here, he’s in for it. _

Jack lets the anger and annoyance warm him as he plunges deeper into the treeline. This is where Robinson’s prints stop, he lost the trail. But Robinson is a city boy from Chicago. Jack grew up learning to track lost cattle. 

He follows the occasional snapped branch and displaced leaf litter down a ravine.  _ What the hell was he doing coming out so far?  _ And then there’s a massive gash in the ground where it looks like the kid lost his balance and fell, sliding the rest of the way down. Jack tries not to do the same himself as he scrambles to the bottom.

He almost trips over Angus before he realizes the kid is even there; he’s so coated in mud and forest debris. It’s the soft whimper that gives him away.  _ Damn it, if he fell and injured himself... _ Jack bends down, fully ready to give the kid a stern scolding and haul his drunk ass back to camp himself. But when his hand touches Angus’s arm, he flinches. The kid’s burning up, he can feel it through his clothes.  _ Oh damnit. _ MacGyver’s not drunk. He has a fever. And a high one. 

Jack doesn’t remember much about getting the Spanish Flu. He was only five at the time. But what he does remember is feeling like he was going to burn up, and Laurie, who was eight and slept right beside him, feeling like she was on fire too.  _ Momma always said it was a miracle we lived.  _ MacGyver’s fever feels like that now.  _ How did it get this bad? _

He kneels in the muck beside the kid, hands skimming over his body. He can barely see anything, the trees are blocking what light is filtering through the clouds. Angus’s breathing is ragged and harsh, and when Jack rests his fingers on his neck, his pulse is fluttery. 

Jack starts to run his hands down MacGyver’s sides and back, checking for any injury that might make it unsafe to move him, when his hands hit a patch of warm wetness that’s a stark contrast to the kid’s rain-soaked clothing. Angus cries out, flinching away from Jack’s hands. 

“No,” he mumbles softly. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’ll fix it. Please.” He tries clumsily to bat Jack’s hands away. “Please, Dad, I’m sorry!”  _ He’s so far gone he’s seeing things. _ “I won’t do it again, I promise, you don’t have to..” He flinches away, curling up further, and tears start to cut lines in the grime caked on his face. 

_ Oh hell no. _ Jack rocks back on his heels in the mud as everything falls into place. MacGyver’s desperate determination to get everything right the first time. The absolute  _ terror  _ in his face when Jack shook his fist in his face after the rifle incident.  _ I literally threw him out of the tent. _ He can’t imagine how frightened Angus must have been.

Jack knows he was fortunate to grow up with a good man raising him. Never had to fear being used as the outlet for anger, drunken or otherwise. Never felt like he was a burden. He can’t imagine what it was like for a soft-spirited kid like Angus to grow up in a house full of anger.  _ No wonder he hates war and killing. _ Jack suddenly remembers every time the boy flinched at shouted orders or loud artillery.  _ I thought he was scared of the fighting. But it probably just reminded him of his father’s anger.  _

He leans down again, trying to turn MacGyver over so he can see where the worst of the damage is. “Stop, please, I won’t do it again,” he sobs. 

“Hey, kid, calm down. I’m not your dad, I’m not gonna hurt ya.” Jack tries to put a hand on MacGyver’s shoulder but that only escalates the situation. He gasps, choking out another sob, and shivers. 

“I’ll be quiet, I promise. I won’t touch anything.” 

“I’m not going to hurt you. I swear.” Jack says. He reaches down and finds the kid’s hand in the mud. “I’m never gonna let anyone hurt you again.” Something in his words must get through to Angus, because the kid relaxes, his fingers tangling into Jack’s trustingly.

Jack slips his arms under the kid’s body, and lifts him, holding Angus against his chest. The boy is shivering, despite the fever, and he looks so small. It’s a struggle to stumble back up the hill; Jack feels like the time he had to carry a newborn foal back from one of the pastures in a storm. The kid’s all legs like that colt, too.  _ Little fella pulled through, raised him myself when the mare wouldn’t accept him.  _ Jack said goodbye to Crow at the fence when he walked off to head to the training camp, and thanks to the letter from home, he knows his horse will be there to greet him when he gets back.

He feels just as protective of this broken, lost kid as he did of that abandoned foal.  _ I’ll do whatever it takes to save him.  _ He adjusts Angus carefully in his arms, and the kid gasps, then begins to mumble. Jack’s not entirely sure what he’s talking about, it sounds like math. Or science. Or some unholy combination of both. Jack doesn’t pretend to understand it. He just holds MacGyver a little closer and steps out of the treeline, trying to shelter the boy from the worst of the still-falling rain. 

He ignores the startled stares and comments when he carries the boy into camp, heading straight for the medical tent. He knows he and Angus are both mud-caked messes, it might be funny if it weren’t for the life and death situation they’re in. 

It’s hard to let go, to hand the boy over even to the capable hands of the nurses and doctors. Jack paces in the area of the tent that’s reserved for men waiting for treatment. There are a couple others with coughs and trench foot there, and they keep asking him to either stop pacing or leave, he’s driving them crazy. But he can’t leave. 

When a nurse steps out, Jack asks her for any news. 

“MacGyver’s condition is currently very sensitive. He had a severely infected wound that had been left untreated the better part of a week at the least. A few more hours and I think we would have lost him,” The nurse says quietly. 

“May I see him?” Jack asks.

The nurse sighs. “I’ll ask one of the doctors. They want him to rest, but he seems agitated. I think he might be asking for you.” 

Jack continues to pace until one of the doctors steps out. He pulls Jack into the main medical section of the tent. “I would prefer that Specialist MacGyver remain quiet. But he seems unable to stay calm, and it’s possible you could calm him enough for him to fall asleep. But if he becomes more agitated, I will ask you to leave.” Jack nods silently. 

Jack looks down at the unmoving kid on the cot the doctor leads him to. Besides the bandages wrapped around his side, there are scars that make Jack sick to even think about.  _ There’s no way this is from the war.  _ Marks he’s sure are cigarette burns pepper the kid’s thin shoulders and upper arms. And across his chest and shoulders are ragged lines that look like the scars their old ranch hand Jesse has from broken bottles in bar fights. 

Angus is still awake, eyes half open, red-rimmed under the sweaty strands of hair clinging to his forehead. He glances up at Jack with those fever-bright blue eyes, and Jack swallows a sob at how much Angus looks like a five year old child.  

“Why did you come get me?” He asks, his voice rasping. 

“Well, we all sort of thought you deserted your post.” Jack shakes his head,  _ that was a stupid thing to say. That was so, so thoughtless. His father would have punished him cruelly for the smallest mistakes, I’m sure of it. _ “We were worried. Thought maybe you got in trouble, or shot, or something.” 

MacGyver nods. “I’m sorry. I was...I was so tired, and I don’t really remember, I didn’t know what was happening. I-I don’t know…”

“You had a fever. Still do, buddy.” Jack brushes sweaty hair off the boy’s head. “That’ll mess with anyone’s brain. Even a genius one like yours.” He’s seen the kid scribbling insane mathematical equations on his logs. He’s even talked to Fitzy in the gunnery crew about a better way to calculate trajectory of fire.  _ I was mad at him then, for trying to butt into something he wasn’t qualified for. But he was only trying to help.  _

“Why are you still here?”

Jack sighs. He’s not even sure of the answer to that. “Because you shouldn’t have to be alone.”  _ Because you should know at least one person in this whole world cares what happens to you. That someone thinks you’re worth spending time with. _

“I don’t need…”

“Yes, you do. Stop arguing with me, that’s an order, MacGyver,” Jack chuckles. “As your commanding officer, it’s up to me whether I spend time with you or not. And as your friend, I want to.”

“Friends, huh?” MacGyver asks, with the closest thing to a smile Jack’s gotten out of him all day. “Then you can call me Mac. Angus sounds like a cow, right?”  _ Right, dumb jokes on the first day I met him. But it  _ was _ exactly the same as Mr. Cooper’s herd back in Texas... _

“Okay, Mac.” He smiles, shaking the kid’s hand. Then he leans down and brushes a hand over the kid’s cheek, the way Momma always did for him when he had a fever. “I’m not going anywhere, kid.” 


End file.
